Impossible and Improbable
by notreallywritinganymore
Summary: Harry is accused of something no one could expect, and none of his friends believe in his innocence. But what can he do when he doesn't even know what happened? Undergoing major rewrites! Better than before (I hope).
1. Prologue

**_Edits: _**I'm currently working on a revised version of this story. I liked the old way a little, but I really want to change the format. It needed help. So have patience. For those of you who read the older version, keep the secrets that you know to yourself. Please.

**_Disclaimer:_** I do not in any way, shape, or form, own Harry Potter or any of the characters. I actually don't own much of anything in any way, shape, or form.

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**Prologue: _Nightmare_**

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_He was walking into the room. It was a beautiful room, a bedroom judging by the big bed in the middle. He didn't know what he was doing in the room, but something had told him to come. Something had called him. _

_ He was afraid. Something was wrong. Something bad was going to happen, something that he should be able to stop. He slowly stopped walking, looking at the sleeping figure. It was snoring. But nothing could go wrong here. Nothing. Slowly he turned. He was being delusional. Nothing was going to go wrong. Everything was fine. _

_ But then what were those footsteps? What else was walking towards the room?_

_ Someone walked in. He could hear the footsteps, even though he couldn't see the person. Suddenly, his wand slipped out of his pocket. He bent down to retrieve it, afraid to be caught without it. But the wand vanished. He was feeling more and more afraid. Something really was wrong. Something bad was going to happen. And then he heard it. A curse. That curse he had heard so many times—in his life and in his dreams. But the voice speaking the curse was different from the one he normally heard. And suddenly he remembered what the curse was. And now he was even more afraid._

_ The person was laughing. And then it left. He did not know who it had been. He held his head. He could hear more footsteps. More people were coming to curse him. He sank to the ground. He covered his head. _

_ This was a nightmare, it had to be a nightmare. That was it. He was stuck in his own head. The footsteps of the face were dying away because he was waking up. He was going to open his eyes in a few seconds. It was all going to go away. _

_ It was a nightmare, nothing more._

"Harry!"

He lifted his head. He looked around. And slowly he realized, he wasn't in his room. It was someone else's bedroom. So if that was true, then the patches of things he could remember must be true. Standing up, he looked around. Professor McGonagall was staring at him in horror.

What did he do wrong?

Slowly, realizing what it must be, he turned around to see the bed. A man was lying there. The man was not snoring anymore. He didn't look like he was breathing at all. And as Harry's senses returned to him, all he could do was wish that it had all been a nightmare.

For there lay Albus Dumbledore, dead by Harry's wand.

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Review. Please. I don't know how long this will take. Just review and it will all happen sooner.

I swear.


	2. Silent Screams of Innocence

**_Disclaimer:_** I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. I do seem to be in possession of toilet paper now.

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**Chapter 1: _Silent Screams of Innocence_**

Harry sat in his jail cell that he was to stay in until his trial. The walls were damp and covered with mold. The bars seemed rusted and the floor was cold. There were no dementors in the waiting cells, though Harry had a feeling that there were no dementors in Azkaban anymore. This thought did not cheer him up though. He had no delusions that anyone was going to believe in his innocence. He knew what it had to have looked like to everyone. He was sitting there, his wand lying near him with the curse on it. And anything he could say would probably make it worse. Who would believe that he was just there because of a bad feeling; who would believe that someone came in while he was there, unseen to him, and just took his wand and kill Dumbledore.

He wanted to see people. He wanted to see his friends. He wanted to see anyone and tell them the truth. But they would never believe him. No one ever did. Whenever he was telling the truth over the biggest things, no one believed. The only two people who had always believed were now dead. And both of their deaths were his fault. He had led one to his death and just stared as the other one was murdered in front of him. Now that they were gone, no one was left to believe him. Even Ron, his best friend, hadn't always believed. And Harry was sure that none of the common sense in the world was going to save him from the blame of Hermione.

Hours were ticking by as Harry waited for his trial. He counted drips as they fell from the ceiling to the ground. They became a metronome of drips, checking off the seconds. So Harry sat there, listening to the only sound that made sense at the moment. The only other noises he could hear were the thoughts in his head, but they made less sense than anything else. He had gone through this once before. He had waited for a trial before, but before he had been so convinced that he would be okay. Dumbledore had come to save him. And even if he had been charged guilty before, the worst that would happen is that he would be expelled from school. Now, the best he could hope for was a cell with clean walls.

Finally, after waiting forever, a man came to the cell and unlocked it. He led Harry through the many twists and turns of the prison. He did not seem very eager to be near Harry. He was directing Harry where to go with a harsh voice and after ages of "left…right…" they finally reached a room.

This room was different from the last room Harry had been in for a trial. It was as bleak as he felt. An empty chair waited for him and a few important members of the Ministry were sitting behind a table. The man who had brought Harry turned around and left, shutting the heavy door behind him with a loud thud. Harry took a few steps forward, and then slid into the hard chair. Cornelius Fudge and two more men sat before him with solemn faces.

"Harry James Potter, you are here today to face charges of murdering Albus Dumbledore," Fudge stated, reading from a piece of parchment. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Harry sat there. What could he say to make them believe him? Fudge had never believed him. He definitely wasn't going to believe him now. There was no one to vouch for him. There was no one to save him anymore. Harry pondered over what happened. There was silence in the courtroom, but chaos in his head. Thoughts were swirling and words were silently screaming to be heard, but he did not know what to say. He raised his eyes to look at the men before him. If only they could see what had happened by looking at his eyes. Why could they not see what his eyes had seen?

After sinking into his ocean of thoughts, Harry swallowed his throat and decided to try to speak. "I…there was someone in the room. I think there was someone else in the room who killed him."

Harry knew how desperate he must have sounded. He knew how stupid his excuse was. He knew that no matter what he said, he would be considered guilty. Whatever the truth was, he would be sent to Azkaban for it. And he did not even know who it was. And he probably never would. It is rather difficult to solve mysteries from a jail cell. His eyes were pleading with the men, but they would never believe him. He was their fallen hero. He was a traitor to his own cause. And nothing he could ever say would ever change that. He knew it.

"And what exactly were you doing in the Headmaster's room?" asked one of the men, snapping Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry paused, trying to figure out what he should say now. In the end, he decided to go with the truth, "I don't know why I went to his bedroom. I just had this bad feeling. I knew something was going to happen. So I went."

They were staring at him with an incredulous look. Before, when Fudge had not believed his story of dementors, Sirius's innocence, and Voldemort's return, Harry had not been able to understand why. Those stories were obvious. He would never lie about something like the return of Voldemort. But this time, Harry could see why Fudge believed he was lying. The greatest wizard of their time had just been murdered, and the greatest excuse that Harry could come up with was, "There was someone in the room" and "I just felt like something bad was going to happen."

He wanted to go now. He knew they were going to put him into Azkaban. If only they could see the innocence written on his face as well as he could read the look of contempt etched over their faces. But they were not going to just let him pack off to Azkaban. They were going to torture him. They were going to make him wait till they made it official. They were going to make him sit there, trying simultaneously to read their faces and yet not look at them either.

Fudge started talking again, "Harry James Potter, you are to return to your holding cell. We will review your testimony, as well as what we have gathered from witnesses. When we have reached a verdict, we will alert you." He seemed to be treating this like a business deal. It all seemed so rehearsed, so mechanical—like Harry was just a toy being debated over in a meeting.

Fudge pressed a little button on the table, and the man who had brought Harry to the room came back. This time, he led Harry back. He still did not seem too eager to be near him, but he looked at Harry with slight curiosity. He felt like the snake that Dudley had been trying to make move so many years ago. Or was it really so long ago? Was it really only five years? Five years since he had first learned he was a wizard.

So long ago, Harry had felt like that was the best moment of his life. He had thought that it would be escape from the life he had led with the Dursleys. He had thought he would be free. And now—now he was stuck in a prison of time, waiting for Fudge he knew was coming, waiting to go to Azkaban, waiting to be hated by everyone, and waiting for the goddamn prophecy to come true. If either he or Voldemort were supposed to die, why couldn't it just happen? Just get it all fucking over with. But no, he had to be stuck here, waiting for it all to happen.

They finally reached Harry's waiting cell. He walked in, not bothering to look where he was walking—it was not like there was anything to look at or trip over. He glumly sat down, not caring that the floor was damp or dirty or smelled like the Herbology greenhouses when they were using the dragon dung fertilizer. He just sat there. At one moment, he wanted to know what everyone was thinking about him, yet at the same moment he decided that it was probably better not to know. Maybe he was better off being ignorant.

He waited there again, knowing what was going to happen. Again, he stared at the walls, counted the drips, and pondered over what happened. And finally, the man who had taken him to the trial came back. He took unlocked the cell and took Harry roughly by the arm. They began walking a new path this time. Harry could see that the rooms were getting brighter. That meant that they were walking upstairs, towards the outside. Harry could not help get a little hopeful at this. Maybe they did believe him after all. Maybe they were not going to send him to Azkaban.

As he ascended the steps, he could hear people. A crowd of people were waiting out there. Maybe they were the Order, waiting to take him home. He was walking towards sunlight now. They were approaching a heavy door. The man opened the door and suddenly Harry saw how large the crowd really was. They were loud, and extended for a distance. And Harry realized then what they came for. They were there to see if it was really true. There were there to hear the verdict of what they thought was a guilty man. They thought he was guilty, he could tell, because the moment he had come out of the doors, they had gone silent with accusation—as if one word might suddenly tie them in with the crime as well.

Fudge came out with the other men that had tried Harry. One of the, a rather short man with little hair, stepped forward. Tapping his throat with his wand and whispering _Sonorus_, he suddenly spoke.

"We, the members of the Department of Justice, have hereby found Harry James Potter guilty of murdering Albus Dumbledore. His sentence has already been decided. He will be sent to Azkaban for a life sentence with no chance of parole."

When he was finished, an audible gasp was heard from the crowd. It was not that they were shocked by the sentence, it was the reality. It was the finality of it all. Harry, their savior, was guilty. He could not save them anymore. How could someone who had had been charged with murdering the great Albus Dumbledore be their hero?

Harry was marched down through the crowd. He had Ministry officials on all sides of him. People stared at him with the same curiosity that the jailer had stared at him with before. He tried to avoid looking at them. He did not want to see who these people were. But sometimes, he looked up. It always seemed to be at the wrong moment too. Once, he had looked up to see a red-headed family. The Weasley's looked at him with sadness and disbelief. Hermione was standing with them, looking stumped for the first time in her life. He was guilty to them. He saw Draco too, his familiar smirk adorning his skinny white face. This is what he had been reduced too. He was now considered more evil than Draco Malfoy.

And that is when his scar began hurting again. And he knew why it hurt. It was Voldemort. He was laughing—Harry could hear it. He was laughing because the people he intended to take control over had just removed one of his greatest obstacles for him. It was only time before Voldemort would finally have what he wanted.

And there was no one there to stop him.

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Sorry that it took me a while to write this. I'm actually much happier with this version of the story than before. I just like the format. What about you? Tell me what you think. Please review!

Thanks and good bye for now.


	3. The Burrow

Sorry it has taken me so long to write this chapter. I know, I apologize a lot. But yeah. I just started school again. Thanks to the reviewers.

**_Disclaimer_** I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. However, on top of the toilet paper I had last time, I seem to have gained way too many school books meant to build the strength of my back.

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**Chapter 2: The Burrow**

Ron sat in his tiny excuse of a room. He could not focus on anything around him, quite a feat for a room covered with bright orange pictures of his favorite Quidditch team. How was he was supposed to focus though. Harry Potter had just been sent to Azkaban for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Even if Harry had not been his friend he would have been in shock.

But Harry was more than his best friend, he was like the brother without red hair that he had never had. He had never cared that Ron was poor and wore shabby clothes. He had never worried about what people might think about the great Harry Potter hanging out with a loser from a family with too many kids. He had been there for him at all times, even when Ron had doubted him. Harry may have had to deal with a lot, but he had always had time to be friends with Ron.

But now he was a criminal. He had been the one who warned everyone about the return of Voldemort, but now he served as a warning to everyone that you could never who to trust anymore. And god, Ron wished he could trust Harry now. But he could not even trust the memory of him. Harry was not gone from his life because the Harry he though he had known for so long had never existed. He had been a lie.

But Ron knew he could not believe that. He knew that no matter what he thought, Harry had never been a murderer. But isn't that what everyone says about the people who suddenly murder people—that they never seemed like someone who would murder someone. Besides, no one had ever thought Peter Pettigrew would be the one to betray Lily and James Potter.

Now that he thought about it, this must have been what Lily and James felt like when they realized what Peter really was. Not only betrayed, but also sad. Because it is so hard to hate someone who was your best friend and gave you so much fun throughout the years and then suddenly took it all away.

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Hermione paced back and forth in her room in the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had told her stay there for the weekend. Now that she was there, she wished she could just stay there forever. Or maybe she could go back home and then act like a Muggle again. Anything to get away from the magic world and the sadness that came from it.

For once, she did not want to return to school. She knew that when she did, people would stare at her, point at her, and maybe even whisper about her. She was the best friend of the boy who had murdered the greatest wizard of all time. Even more, people had always put them together and thought they were involved in some secret relationship. But it was not even the rumors or the spotlight that she minded; it was what they reminded her of.

It reminded her that Harry was not there anymore. He was not there for her to rebuke or help or laugh at. Everything was already feeling different without Dumbledore, but without Harry, things were even more alien. It made everything tenser because he was not there to serve as a reminder that Voldemort was not all-powerful. But now, Voldemort was omnipotent. He had everything gone that he needed to be gone.

Nothing in Hermione's logical brain could grasp what had happened. She had tried to think it over and over. Seeing Harry's face as he walked down, she knew that he could tell that she was confused. His eyes had bee so dead, so tired. He seemed like an old man who had succumbed to a fate that only he knew. His shoulders were slouched like someone who had dropped a heavy burden that they had carried for a long time, but was still not sure of how to walk tall and proud.

It was this submission that hurt Hermione the most. Seeing Harry, the person who would do anything (even if it could get him killed, or worse, expelled) give up was the one thing that convinced Hermione that things were going to be very difficult from now on. Harry was the bravest person she ever knew. She could even say that he was the greatest person, including those she had read about in books.

The best thing about Harry used to be that he was her best friend. Now, the worst thing was that he was still her best friend.

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Mrs. Weasley was trying to cook in the kitchen. She had already cut herself several times because her hands had been trembling several times. As she attempted to use her wand to boil the water, she ended up splashing more of the water because of her shaking voice.

"Here, dear, why don't you just take a break?" spoke her husband, sitting in a chair holding a newspaper, but not really reading it.

"No, no. It's okay. Besides, we need to eat tonight," she replied.

"We don't have to eat home cooking tonight, we could always try that Muggle stuff—that fast food stuff. It's really amazing when you think about. Just go in and they have-"

"We are not going to eat any of that stuff. Besides, I can cook tonight. I am just not feeling that well."

Mr. Weasley gave her a doubting glance, but just returned to staring at his paper. Both of them were avoiding discussing the obvious. They did not want to have to talk about it. It would just get everyone sad again. Ron and Hermione were already sad, there was no need to make them feel any more depressed.

The truth was that both of them were beyond heartbroken. Seeing him walk as a guilty man had been just as sad as if it had been one of their own children. They had enjoyed taking care of Harry, the boy who had never known what a loving family was. Sure, he was different from their sons, but it did not matter.

Mrs. Weasley rested her wand on the table, staring at the potato peels that were scattered around. She could feel her eyes tearing up again. She tried to tell herself to get a grip, but it was not working. The tears were falling out of her eyes now.

Mr. Weasley got up and walked over to her. He pulled her into a hug and stood there with her. It was silent except for the soft sobs of the little red-haired woman. She opened her eyes only to see Harry's dejected face peering quietly on the front of the Daily Prophet. This intensified her sorrow and multiplied her tears.

Mr. Weasley softly kissed her forehead while tenderly patting her back and smoothing her frizzy hair. She closed her eyes and tried to stop her tears. They stood there together for some time. After a while, Mr. Weasley spoke again.

"Here, honey, I'll try to help you cook this stuff."

This resulted in a smirk on Mrs. Weasley's face as she remembered the last time Mr. Weasley had tried to cook for the family. He may be good at putting cars together, but the same did not apply to putting together meals.

"That's okay. I'll get it done. We do not want the chicken to look a dragon's hide again."

"If you say so. But hurry up. Remember, Bill, Charlie, and the twins are coming to eat tonight."

"Yes, don't worry. I will get it all done. Go back to reading your paper."

And with a kiss on his wife's cheek, he returned back to his chair, though he did not pick up the paper.

Mrs. Weasley resumed her cooking, her hands shaking a little bit less.

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Ginny lay down on her bed and did what she knew everyone else in the house was doing. Thinking about Harry.

Harry Potter. Her first real crush. She remembered how she used to be in such awe of him and how he had been so nice to her. He had saved her life and been her friend. She may have gotten over her crush on him, but she still was in awe of him.

Even though she knew he was human, he seemed so beyond it. Maybe it was the fact that he tried to seem so normal that he seemed so different. But now, she did not know what to think of him. This whole murderer thing was completely unexpected of Harry. No one would have seen that coming. From the pacing she could hear coming from Hermione's room, she knew that the bushy-haired girl was thinking the same thing.

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Hermione walked out of her room and walked down the hallway. Walking past Ginny's room, she went to the neon orange room after that. She knocked, but no one answered. She knocked again. When no one responded again, she talked to the door.

"Ron, open the door."

Silence.

"Ron! Open the stupid door."

Silence.

"Ronald Weasley, stop being a stupid, lazy asshole and open the goddamn door."

Maybe it was the shock of hearing Hermione swear twice in one sentance, but Ron opened the door. His eyes were puffy and he had a solemn looked etched on his face.

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"Why?"

"I don't know? To talk?"

"About what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the weather, Potions, the history of magic, or maybe, the most obvious answer, Harry."

"I'd take you up on the first three topic, but the fourth one….

"Oh, come on Ron. I know you want to."

"Yeah, really. How about, for once in your life, you realize that you are wrong and that I do not want to talk about Harry?"

"Look, Ron, I've been your best friend for a long enough time to know you very well and-"

"Oh, of course. Because Hermione is always right. Because Hermione knows everything about everyone. Did little miss smarty-pants also know that Harry fucking Potter was going to turn into a fucking murderer! You say you know me very well. Did you also know Harry very well? Huh, did you! Did you know him well enough to know that he would be a murderer! Well, news flash for you Hermione—you do not know everything about everyone!"

"Ron, that really is—," but before Hermione could finish her sentence, Ron's door slammed shut, Ron on the other side of it. With an annoyed look on her face, Hermione put her hand on the door handle and shoved the door open. Ron was lying down on his bed and staring at nothing.

"Hermione, please get out."

Hermione just walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at the floor, resting her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. They both just sat there in the silence, thinking of their best friend who seemed so distant. Finally, Ron broke the silence.

"I do not want to believe it."

"No one wants to believe it. Everyone wants it to be a lie or a mistake or some demented, twisted joke."

"But what else could have happened?"

"There is only one person who knows—the murderer."

The silence started again, broken by Hermione's sobs. Ron sat up and lightly patted her head, staring at the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"Sorry about the yelling thing earlier," he said quietly.

"It's okay, you were just upset. It's completely understandable."

"Well, everyone else was upset too. None of them are screaming at their best friends."

"Yeah, well you are just a stupid prat," Hermione said, smiling through her tears. Ron could not help but laugh too. It might not be funny, but compared to everything else that was going on, it would have to do.

"Well, even if I am a prat, at least I can smell food. C'mon, I think mom's finished dinner."

"Is food all you ever think about?"

"Yup."

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The Weasleys and Hermione crowded around a table. Their faces were void of much expression. It was like a game—who would be the first to break down. They all started to eat when a knock was heard on the door. But before the Mr. Weasley could get up to open the door, Percy Weasley walked in. Everyone stared at him.

"Uh…hi. I just thought I would stop by. See how everyone is doing. Um…maybe I will just go now though."

But before Percy could protest, Mrs. Weasley stood up and gave her son a tight hug. Then she pulled up a chair for him and told him to sit down. The other members of the family were looked at each other, but just shrugged their shoulders and started eating again. It was silent for a while before Percy finally talked again.

"Um, so how is everyone doing?"

Charlie and Bill nodded their heads to signal that they were doing well. Fred and George smiled to reveal that their joke shop was doing exceptionally well. Hermione, Ginny, and Ron just stared at their food, unsure of what movement one does to represent that school had been going well, but would now be utter crap.

"So what are you doing now, Percy?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I am being put in the Department of Mysteries for now. It is probably temporary though, until they find some qualified men to come in."

"It was horrible what the Death Eaters did to the last men," Charlie stated.

"Yeah, that is why not many people are too eager to take the position now," Mr. Weasley said.

"You would think people would want to help the cause though," said Hermione.

"I do not think there will be that many people eager to do anything anymore," Bill brought up.

"Why?" asked Ron.

Ginny was the one to answer, "Because no one thinks it will make a difference now. Now with Dumbledore and Har-," she stopped herself.

Everyone stopped talking again. The Topic had been brought up, the Name had been said. And now everyone was left to their own thoughts.

"I wonder what he is doing now," said Mrs. Weasley. No one had to ask who "he" was. And so they sat there contemplating what he probably was doing.

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Harry, in fact, was sitting in his cell. It was rather small, but it was so empty that it was hard to tell. He stared at the wall, his mind wandering aimlessly from happy thoughts to sad thoughts. He had no idea what time it was, but he decided to guess that it was around nighttime. Lying down on the dirty ground, he began to think about what he had tried to keep himself from thinking about. His friends.

He stared at the ceiling, thinking about what they were probably doing now. In his imagination, some friends were ignorant of what happened to him, while others were busy blaming. But he could not imagine what the Weasleys were doing. It was funny because they were closest friends he had ever had, but he could not pin down what they might be doing.

His last thought before he drifted off into an uneasy sleep was that he wished that he knew what the Weasleys were doing and what they were thinking.

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Finally. I finished with this chapter. I like it. It turned out pretty well (I think—though I will probably change my mind within an hour of posting it). So please review.

Thanks and goodbye (until later).


	4. La Vie

**Title:** _Impossible and Improbable_

**Author: **Okidokiboki

Again, I'm sorry that this is taking a while to update. School is wreaking havoc on me.

Thanks to all my reviewers. You make my day. Especially DarkElf for reminding me that Harry was still stuck in a cell.

**Disclaimer:** I own Harry Potter, really, I do! Oh wait, never mind. I thought I was still dreaming for a second there.

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**Chapter 3: _La Vie_**

The ministry was packed with wizards coming in and out. Some had urgent looks on their faces, others just looked exhausted. Emergencies had become such a common word now.

Red paper airplanes were flying constantly with messages of importance. Deaths, kidnappings, disappearances, destruction, torture—anything horrible that could be named had probably been done by Voldemort and his supporters.

People asked their friends how they were doing each morning, that common ritual engaged by the world in general. Each person would answer with a "Fine" or "Okay," but everyone knew that there was no truth behind the words. Terror was a common expression in people's eyes.

Cornelius Fudge walked into this building of gloom and despair. He walked with a determined step, trying to not look at the people around him. Their stares were either questioning or accusatory.

He figured that this was probably how Harry Potter felt. How could a kid so young deal with it all?

Not that Fudge cared. He had lost his job and his dignity because of Harry and Dumbledore. Yes, the Ministry had given him a job in the Department of Justice, but that was just the result of under-the-table deals to save himself from complete humiliation. He had been replaced by Elizabeth Bouclier, a half-French witch famous in the Ministry for her success as an auror as much as for her beauty.

She was young and female, both of which enraged the chauvinistic elitist in Fudge. What was worse was that she was actually doing better at his job. She had managed to prevent many deaths and arrest a lot of Death Eaters as an auror, and now as the Minister of Magic, she had managed to make the wizarding world a little safer.

Fudge finally reached his office. Opening it, he found a flood of mail from people. Burning them with his wand, he sat down. He knew what those letters said. He had gotten the same type at his home. They were letters filled with questions asking if he was sure. If he was sure that it was Harry.

Of course he wasn't sure. He had no evidence other than a wand, and an accused hero. How the hell could he be sure! He had seen the look in Harry's eyes. The look had haunted him all night. He had seen the green eyes stare at him, pleading silently. It was a look filled with innocence that he was still trying to ignore. He had seen it, the two men next to him had seen it. Even if Harry had confessed, as long as he had that look in his eyes, Fudge would believe he was innocent.

But Fudge convicted him. He tried to convince himself that he did it because the evidence all pointed to Harry. But Fudge knew that wasn't true. He could have said that there wasn't enough evidence to convict him. He knew why he had convicted Harry. He had done it because he wanted revenge. Because he blamed everything on him. And he wanted Harry to suffer in Azkaban because of it. And in doing so, he had stripped the people around him of one of their greatest heroes.

It was not just Harry that would suffer—it would be everybody.

"Stop it," Fudge told himself, "Stop thinking like that. It wasn't you. You just did what you were supposed to do." He continued mentally berating himself that he didn't realize that a paper airplane was hovering near his head. Eventually the airplane got impatient with the man mumbling to himself and painfully jabbed his neck.

"Ow!" Then after a few seconds, he finally realized that he should look at the thing that had poked him.

The paper airplane was a light purple. There was only one person in the whole ministry who could send paper airplanes that were purple.

_Fudge,_

_Please come to my office as soon as possible._

_Elizabeth__ Bouclier  
__Minister of Magic_

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In the office of the Minister of Magic, Elizabeth Bouclier was pacing behind her desk. It was something she often did when she was trying to think. When she was an auror, she had worn a few carpets down. Every so often, she looked outside the large windows. She saw both the Muggle and wizarding world collided into one whole world. She could always tell the difference.

The Muggles normally didn't look as worried because they just didn't know what was going on. And she had gone to great lengths to keep it like that. She wanted to keep the knowledge of the wizarding world to a minimum. It would be safer that way. She had seen the response of some Muggles to wizards, and it did not give her a positive outlook. She herself was a half-wizard. Her mother, a Muggle from England, had known about her French husband's magical abilities and fell in love with him despite it. However, one day, her mother's parents found out and were not as accepting. Threatening to disown her, she ran away to France with her husband.

Elizabeth grew up in France knowing that she was magical, but unable to tell any of her friends. When she was of the right age, she had the option between Beauxbatons and Hogwarts. Her parents and her decided that Hogwarts (where her father had studied) would be a better experience because not only was it one of the top schools of magic, but because she would be able to improve her English.

After she graduated, she decided to stay in England and work as an auror. As a ministry worker, she had seen many cases where Muggles had found about a witch's or wizard's abilities and been unhappy about it.

No, she decided, Muggles were best kept in the dark when it came to the magical world. True, this was not a case of "What you don't know can't hurt you," because Voldemort would hurt anyone that he could, but ignorance is still bliss.

Now, after five years as an auror, she was the Minister of Magic. The nomination had come as a surprise, but she decided that it would be a good opportunity to implement the safety measure she had wanted to enforce before but was not allowed to.

Hearing a knock on her door, she turned around.

"Come in."

Cornelius Fudge walked in, holding her memo in his hand.

"You wanted to see me, Minister?"

"Yes. Please sit down."

Fudge sat down, while Elizabeth remained standing. Fudge had to admit, the woman was rather intimidating.

"Are you feeling okay, Fudge?" she asked with concern, surprising Fudge.

"Yes, of course."

"You look a little sick. Would you like water, tea, anything?"

Fudge figured that if the minister was showing kindness, he should probably accept it. Besides, one day, he would have his position back, and it would be nice to take advantage of the current minister as much as possible.

"I'll just have a glass of water, please."

Elizabeth waved her wand and a house elf came wobbling in with a glass of water. Fudge looked at the elf with a degree of distaste, having never really come to terms with the idea of equality, and took the water.

He took a quick sip of water and then focused his attention back on Elizabeth.

"So what would you like to talk about?" Fudge asked.

"Well, obviously, I have some inquiries about the trial of Harry Potter."

"What sort of inquiries might you have?"

"I have the same question that many people have. Unlike most people, however, I have the ability to ask it—"

"You want to ask what made me convict Harry. You want to know what makes me think he is guilty."

"Yes," she replied, nonplussed by his ability to see what she was thinking, "I want to know what evidence you have that proves his guilt."

"First of all, there was his wand. The wand had the curse—"

"But it could have been performed by anyone else. Someone could have stolen his wand."

"Perhaps. But another reason I decided to convict him was that he was in the room. He had no reason to be in that room—"

"Didn't you ask him what he was doing in there?"

"Of course I did. But he could give me no valid reason."

"So basically," she started, not looking very happy, "you convicted a boy on the basis that he could gave you as few reasons to be innocent as to be guilty?"

"Minister, he could give me no reason to believe he is innocent." Fudge could feel the lie leave his mouth. It was not very difficult for him to lie, however, he had done it so much before.

"And whatever happened to the concept of innocent until proven guilty?"

"This is not a time when you can just let people go because you wish to believe that they are innocent. Surely, you are aware of the situation of the world around us," Fudge said with a degree of sarcasm.

"Yes. I know that this world is in danger. One does not have to be the Minister of Magic to know that. However, I know that sticking Harry Potter in jail based on nothing is just as dangerous."

"That boy is nothing! He does not mean anything. The only thing that has happened is that the world has lost its hero. And maybe that is a good thing. It's time people realize that you cannot trust anyone."

"Trust is what led people to be able to stay together in this time! Trust is what keeps most of the wizards and witches sane at this time!" Elizabeth's voice was rising.

"Trust is a lie. You don't know who you can trust. You are the Minister of Magic, it's time you realize that," Fudge spat back.

"You asked me, Fudge, if I know what situation this world is in. And now you're asking me to not trust anyone. Let me tell you something, Fudge, I am not about to trust someone who was not willing to believe that this situation could never happen."

Fudge was silent. She had touched on the Subject. And he had nothing to retort. Her eyes were intense; he would rather stare into the sun than look into her gaze.

"You can go now"

Fudge stood up and walked up, leaving his glass of water at almost the same level as when he gotten it.

He walked slowly back to his office. People near Elizabeth's office looked curiously, wondering what he had been discussing with her. He was angry, they could see that. Most of them had worked under him before, and they knew when he was angry. He'd been that way when Sirius escaped, when Harry had started saying that Voldemort was back, and when he had been fired.

Angry was one way a person did not want to see Fudge, but Elizabeth did not care. He knew it. He knew that he was more afraid of her than he thought she should be of him.

Fudge got back to his office. On his desk was a single letter. He was so sick of these letters. He took out his wand and burned it. But for some reason, the letter didn't burn. It was still there. He tried it again, just in case he had messed up the spell in some way. But the letter was still there.

Fudge's curiosity got the better and he walked to his desk. He picked up the letter. The only the written on the top was his name, scrawled in neat-looking handwriting. The letter was a little hot, but he opened and read it.

_Would you like to be the Minister of Magic again?_

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Elizabeth sat down. She stared at the glass of water left on the desk. She waved her wand for a house elf. In came the elf that had delivered the water.

"Dobby?"

"Yes, miss?"

"What did you think of the man you delivered the water too?"

"Is Dobby allowed to speak freely?"

Elizabeth smiled, "Of course."

"Dobby is not liking him, miss. Dobby is thinking he is a very mean, bad man."

"Why do you think so?"

"Dobby has seen him, miss. He has eaten at my old masters house," Dobby said, not quite sure if it justified his dislike him, "He is not liking Harry Potter too."

"What was he doing at the Malfoys' house?"

"Dobby knows not. They talked and gave money too each other."

"Yes," Elizabeth said, staring into nothing in particular.

"Miss, would you like me to take the glass?"

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Dobby."

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Fudge stared at the letter. This was his dream. But how could a letter just promise him his job back. He tried to scan through it and find some clue as to who had sent it. He tapped it a few times with his wand, but nothing happened.

After a few minutes of just staring at the letter, the words began to slowly change.

_Meet me at the Gorgon Sisters Café in Knockturn Alley at __9:00__ tonight._

Around Fudge, wizards and witches were hustling and bustling about, but he could not hear any of them. All he knew at that moment was that he would finally be able to be minister again.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Elizabeth watched Dobby walk out of the room. She had acquired Dobby after Dumbledore was killed. Apparently, in his will, Dumbledore had said that Dobby would go to the new minister. She was not quite sure why, but she was glad that Dobby was here. He represented so many of the things that she believed should come in a government. He also had some useful information. His employment with the Malfoys meant that she was able to find out a good deal on the notorious family. She had always known that Fudge and the Malfoys had dealings; she had personally warned Fudge against such a business relationship because of the nature of the Malfoys' past, but he had assured her that they were never evil—just under an evil influence.

But it was still disturbing that Fudge was so close with them. She knew that Fudge was not very happy with her as the minister. She also knew that he would probably do anything he could do get it back. His last few weeks as Ministers had been full of Howlers and unhappiness. It was by some dumb luck that he had been able to secure a position in the Department of Justice. Of course, Elizabeth suspected that it was more than just luck, but she was too busy trying to keep the peace to investigate what deals he might have engaged in.

As long as he didn't take her position, everything would be okay. It was not that she was power hungry, but she knew that he had no idea what was going on. He had no idea that Harry Potter was far more disastrous that he made it out to be. It had nothing to do with trust, but with safety.

But Elizabeth knew. She knew that Harry Potter was important. She knew about the prophecy. After all, she was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She had been, from the moment she had heard of its reformation. She had believed Harry Potter from the start. She didn't think that a kid would just make something like that up. Not even as a prank.

But Fudge hadn't agreed, apparently. And now he had sent the boy to jail. And based on nothing but the inability to come up with a good excuse. Yes, she knew that the evidence pointed towards Harry Potter, but it was not conclusive. Anyone could come up with a frame-up like that. Elizabeth was not a great auror for nothing. She was a great auror because she had instincts that rarely (if ever) proved her false. She had caught criminals because she had the ability to see anything that could point towards the truth. And she was very certain that the only reason that Harry Potter was in jail was because Fudge still had a personal vendetta against him.

And now the rest of the wizarding world was going to pay the price.

_C'est__ la vie, non?_

……………………………………………………………………………………………

It was 8:55 as Fudge began to head down Knockturn Alley. He kept his down, just in case someone saw him. He finally got to the Gorgon Sisters Café. People of all sorts were sitting, drinking concoctions of the strangest kind. Fudge was familiar with this place—not all deals are made in a boardroom filled with suits. Walking to the bartender, he ordered a drink and sat down a table.

After waiting a few minutes, he felt a figure behind him. The figure went to the seat. Fudge tried to figure out who the person was, but he couldn't see past the cloak. Then he heard the deep voice.

"Cornelius Fudge, I am going to make you the deal of your life."

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So this is my holiday gift to everyone. A tad bit belated. Only two days though, technically. So here is my New Years Resolution: Update this story **at least** every two weeks. If not, more. So keep track of me and remind me too.

So what did you think of this chapter anyways? It's different than the chapter on the ministry I had before. I figured that Fudge was way to OOC. And besides, it would be nice to have a new Minister because the sixth book is supposed to have a new one. I decided it should be a girl because it would be interesting. She's half-French because that way I can dish all I've learned in French class onto you guys. Her last name, Bouclier, means "shield." Make what you want of it. I know Harry wasn't in this chapter. But don't worry, he'll be back soon!

In fact, if you review a lot, he'll be back even sooner….


	5. Merde!

**Title: **_Impossible and Improbable_

**Author: **Okidokiboki

Well…apparently New Year's resolutions are just made for breaking. Sorry about that. Technically, I shouldn't be writing now because I have an AP Physics exam on Monday, and the extent of physics that I have understood from my teacher this year can be summed up as nothing. I just felt like doing something other than studying. Thanks for putting up with me. And thanks for reviewing despite my inability to update. And I apologize if this is an awful chapter. I took the AP Euro test yesterday, so my brain is kind of frazzled. But at least I'm still in a European mood. Kind of.

**Disclaimer: **If I was living in Stalin's Russia, I would own more of Harry Potter than I do now.

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**Chapter 4: Merde!**

It was about a month after he had been put in Azkaban, Harry decided. It was hard to keep track of the time. He heard the sound of a door opening somewhere. Raising his head, he saw the same man who had brought him to his cell bring another prisoner. He lowered his head; he did not really care who was being brought into the jail. It was probably some Death Eater, and Death Eaters did not usually have anything kind to say to Harry Potter.

The jail cell across from was opened as the prisoner was brought in. He heard the creaking door shut and then locked with the spell that the old warden whispered in his croaky voice. Harry still did not look and see who was across from him.

But then the prisoner said something that made him raise his head.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was about a week since his meeting with the stranger at the café. People in the ministry were surprised about Fudge's ongoing good mood

If only they knew, he thought.

He had a plan now, and had already started carrying it out. He had help, now, to get back his position. The job that was rightfully his. Yes, things were finally turning around for him. Elizabeth Bouclier would rue the day that she had agreed to take the position of Minister of Magic. Fudge laughed, ignoring the stares of people around him.

Oh, this was going to be fun. He only wished that he could see the reaction of Elizabeth….

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"_Vous ne l'avez pas fait, n'est-ce pas?"_

Harry raised his head to see a very a girl in the cell opposite.

"Uh…bonjour?" Harry could not think of what to say. He had never really been taught how to speak French. Great, he thought, just when there's someone to talk to, I can't speak the right language.

The girl laughed. She had black hair and bright blue eyes. She looked like someone Harry knew, but he could not figure out who. It was something about the way she held herself—confident, but sad.

"Your accent is horrible," she mockingly said back.

"Well, excusez-moi if I've never taken a French lesson in my life," Harry bit back. Sitting in Azkaban did not do wonders for one's patience. Yes, he was happy there was someone to talk to, but it was taking him a while to remember how to actually talk to someone other than himself.

"It's okay, it's okay. I was just saying, you didn't do it, did you?" She had a light French accent.

"Do what?"

"Don't play dumb, Harry. Everyone knows who you are and what your are accused of doing."

"Oh wow, I thought the whole news of me killing Dumbledore was going to be kept a secret. I thought that whole crowd that heard the verdict would just forget everything. I-" He stopped himself mid-sentence. He knew that he should probably give the girl a break, but it was hard to control his temper. He had no one to talk to for so long, so now that he did, all the anger he felt started pouring out.

"Hey, don't worry. I believe you're innocent."

"Oh, yeah. A lot of good that's going to do me. Why don't you tell the world that, I bet they'll release just because one girl thinks I'm innocent."

"Normally, when someone believes someone is innocent, the innocent person says, 'Thank you for believing in me.'" She was smiling a little less now, but she had a caring look in her eye. That made Harry more angry though. He did not want her pity. Not when he did not have it from the people he wanted it from the most.

"Why should I care what you think? Everyone else thinks I'm guilty. Fudge thinks I'm guilty, Hogwarts thinks I'm guilty, my own best friends think I'm guilty!"

"What makes you think you're best friends think you're guilty?"

"I saw they're faces when they put me in Azkaban. Ron looked more affected than after he asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball. And Hermione, she looked more dumbfounded than if she had gotten a zero on a paper. They think I'm guilty. I know they do."

"Just because they're confused doesn't mean they think that you're guilty."

"If they thought I was innocent, they wouldn't look confused. I've seen their faces when I've been accused of something. When people thought I was the heir of Slytherin, they had a different look because they believed that I wasn't. When people accused me of being a nutcase, they knew I wasn't. They've been used to me being accused of stuff. And I'm used to seeing their faces whenever I am. I just-"

Harry could not continue talking. He did not realize how loudly he was talking until suddenly everything became silent. He had his back against the damp wall and rested his head on his knees. Everything he had been thinking about had just come pouring out of his mouth to a complete stranger. Every bit of hurt and sadness that had come with the silent accusation he had seen in his friends' eyes had just spilled out. He wished he could take the words back; he did not really like talking about his private life to a girl whose name he did not even know.

The girl interrupted the silence, "Catherine."

"Sorry?" Harry raised his head.

"My name is Catherine Bouclier."

……………………………………………………………………………………………...

"_Merde__!"_

Elizabeth Bouclier swore only when she had to. And she only swore in French when she was very, very mad. And right now, she was incredibly angry. Why did this have to happen now? She had enough to worry about.

Fudge. This was his doing, and she knew it. Ever since they had their "discussion" the week before, he had been very upbeat. He had been very polite to her. Of course, she had been suspicious. Men like Fudge were rarely nice without a reason. He had even asked her how her daughter was. And of course, now she knew why.

"_Salaud__!"_

That bastard. He was the only in the Ministry to stick people in Azkaban right now. And of course, he was misusing the power. He had started with Harry and was now continuing on to Catherine. The problem was, she could not fire him because of it. It was only an Auror's intuition that made her believe that he was carrying out a personal vendetta. She had no hard evidence that he was lying. He had papers "proving" that her daughter had been involved in some discreet espionage with Voldemort. It was a total lie, he knew that she knew that. That was what was driving her insane. He knew that she was powerless to stop this for now.

She was not worried about the safety of her daughter; the dementors had been out of Azkaban since the beginning of the war. But she did not want her daughter stuck in a jail cell. Catherine was all she had left now. Catherine's father—she could not even bear to think of him. It brought back so many sad memories.

Elizabeth sat down in her chair. She was done pacing, which meant she was done thinking. It was time for action.

Fudge had gone too far when he had involved her daughter in his quest. But he had made a mistake—he had underestimated her.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Bouclier, huh. So you're the daughter of the Minister of Magic."

"Aren't you the quick one," Catherine replied, rolling her eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"The same thing as you, I suppose."

"And that would be…?"

"Dealing with Fudge's inability to move on from the past. He creates crimes for us and then places us here. In my case, I supposedly exchanged secrets about top secret Ministry security plans with Voldemort. Of course, Fudge manages to completely overlook the fact that I was at Beauxbatons at the exact time that I told Voldemort how to bypass Ministry officials. Apparently, I have the ability to be in two places at once. Kind of cool, huh."

"Uh…sure."

"Oh, come on. Lighten up."

Harry stared at her with disbelief. "Lighten up? I'll see how bright and chipper you'll be after a month in this place. I've had nothing to do but count the number of drips per minute. I've tried going all _A Little Princess_ by befriending the rats, but then I have to compete with them over my food. And now that I've got someone to talk to, it turns out to be some naïve girl who thinks that being stuck in Azkaban is cause for celebration because her mom is the Minister of Magic and thus makes her invincible."

"Actually, it's been two months since you've been imprisoned here."

"Great. I missed the anniversary. I'll have to throw a huge party for the three month anniversary now. Maybe I can invite all the rats over and that warden guy."

"Oh, I'm not invited?"

Harry scowled. This girl was driving him insane. She seemed to have no sense of their situation. Her mocking optimism was getting on his nerves.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know that this has probably hard on you—"Harry scoffed at the understatement, "But it's just, this can't last. Something good is going to have to happen."

"What makes you think that?" Harry was having a hard time being as optimistic about everything."

"Well, it's just that Voldemort can't win. You're going to get free and save the world. That's just the way it works."

"I hate to break it to you, but this is not the magical world that appears in Muggle books. Voldemort might win. The world might end with death and destruction. People may not have the happily every after they always wished for."

"You're still alive though. As long as you're still alive, aren't we allowed to still hope. There's a prophecy about it."

"Yeah, because I'm going to defeat Voldemort while stuck in a cell in Azkaban talking to some idiot girl that thinks that everyone's going to die happy. Besides, how do you know about the prophecy?"

"My mom. And just because I haven't given up does not mean I am an idiot. I just think that it's not over till it's over."

"Give it up." Harry was getting impatient again. This girl just did not know when to stop. He knew that she was trying to help, but he did not want any help. He just wanted a different life where he would not have to deal with so much tragedy.

"Look, just because it might be hard—"

"Hard? That's an understatement. I've lost my parents, my stepfather, and now I've lost my best friends. I'm supposed to fulfill this prophecy or lose my life. Winning anything hasn't really a common streak in my track record. Besides, doesn't anyone stop to think that maybe I'm tired of having to save everyone. I just want to be a normal teenager instead of a tragic hero."

"I'm not here to argue with you. If you want to be difficult, then fine. Go on being depressed. It's not going to do you any good, though, just constantly moaning and groaning. You've had two whole months to be pissed off. You're not going to get anything by remaining so bummed out. You are who you are; it may suck, but it's what you're stuck with."

Harry kept silent. In his isolation, he had forgotten what it felt like to have someone else be right.

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Yeah. This chapter was the result of procrastination and listening to _bhangra_ after watching _21 Jump Street__, Alias,_ and _House_. I would make it longer, but I have to go to sleep soon. Don't worry, I actually have some idea of what's going to come up in later chapters. With any luck, I'll have chapter five up sometime soon.

Catherine is the result of reading _Darkness at Noon_. The book, if you haven't heard of it, is about a Russian Revolutionary hero who is high up in the Communist party. He is put in jail because of suspicion that he was plotting to kill the leader. The book follows the psychological and physical torture he undergoes. One part I liked was that he taps messages to the guy in the next cell. I was going to do something similar to Harry, but I realized that Harry has never showed any evidence of knowing Morse code. So I stuck the prisoner in the opposite cell. Don't worry, there is more to Catherine than being the daughter to the Minister of Magic. Most of you can probably guess, but I'm not revealing anything till later.

Review and everything will unfold sooner. I promise.

By the way, to those of you who were wondering, _merde_means shit and _salaud_ means bastard. Just in case….

_Au revoir!_


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